


Looking

by sweaterpunk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Autistic Character, Choking Kink, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Self-Harm, Transgender Characters, Violence, headcannon poc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5033329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweaterpunk/pseuds/sweaterpunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's sixth year, and Draco has to kill Dumbledore, betray his school, and pretend that he doesn't feel like dying when Potter looks at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Draco’s eyes were half-closed, resting on the lake which reflected the warm, fall sunlight. He was seconds from falling asleep when a motion in his periphery jerked him back into consciousness. It was Potter and his idiot friends sprinting down the slope that led up to the school, in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Draco pushed himself up to his elbows and squinted. They seemed to be in pursuit of a large, black boarhound. Draco sat up when he realized the boarhound was headed straight for him and it's pursuants had followed suit. 

 

“Fang!” yelled Granger shrilly. 

 

Draco scrambled to his feet just as he was bowled over by the dog, and immediately thereafter tripped over by Potter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imma update with relative frequency. My first fanfiction-- enjoy, my dudes.

“What the FUCK, Potter” yelled Draco, muffled under Potter, who was attempting to wriggle off of him. Fang stood off to the side, his tail making thwapping sounds as it hit a tree trunk. Hermione grabbed his leash as Ron stood off to the side, looking bemused.

 

Potter finally stood up and brushed himself off, glancing at Draco briefly.

 

“Bloody hell, Fluffy.” said Ron.  “What d’ya reckon’s wrong with him, Harry?”

 

Potter shrugged as Hermione tugged on Fang’s collar and the trio made their way in the direction of Hagrid’s hut.

 

“He never leaves Hagrid’s side. . ." drifted back towards Draco.

 

\---

 

Draco yawned while trying to corral a wriggling lizard. It was Transfiguration on a Monday, and nearly everyone was struggling to stay awake while turning a lizard into a dagger. Except, it seemed, Potter, Weasel and Mudblood. Granger sat with her shiny dagger in front of her, whispering something to the others and scribbling on a piece of parchment that she kept trying to shield from the rest of the class. Draco stopped prodding his lizard and tried to crane his neck to get a better view of  what was being written on the parchment. Potter glanced up, caught Draco’s eye, and looked irritated.

 

Pansy, sitting next to Draco, nudged him.

 

“Draco, your lizard’s getting away.”

 

“What?”

 

“Your lizard. And what’s so interesting over there, anyway?”

 

“Nothing, nothing.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was at breakfast the next day that Draco’s speculations about the trio were thrust firmly out of his head by the arrival of post. His parents’ letter to him was absent of any of the candies or little presents that he was so often sent. In fact, it was positively spartan.

 

Draco-

 

We will be expecting you for winter holiday.

 

-Narcissa, Lucius

 

Draco frowned and put it in his back pocket. This was so uncharacteristic of them. Then again, they had both been different, especially mother,  after he had gotten his Dark Mark over the summer. He didn’t understand why.  Both mother and father had expected him to. He rubbed his left arm. His Mark hadn’t twinged once since he got it that night in June. He felt a prickling sensation on his neck and glanced up. Potter was staring at him, expressionless. He then looked away and whispered to Hermione. This was what he needed. Potter on his case. He thought he had made it clear the day he broke Potter’s nose on the Hogwarts Express that Potter was to stay out of his business.

 

Not that Potter really knew anything. Despite what Draco might have been telling his friends, instructions from Voldemort had not been forthcoming. The only time he had spoken to the Dark Lord had been on the day of his Marking.

 

Pansy sat down across from him.

 

“Pansy,” he said.

 

Pansy raised an eyebrow.

 

“I’ve got a problem.”

 

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Daphne will stop bothering you if you just clearly tell her ‘no,’  you muppet.”

 

“No, no, it’s other stuff. Potter.”

 

Pansy sighed and her eyes rolled with a newfound vigor. “Not this again.”

 

“It’s the past few weeks. He keeps looking at me and never says anything.”

 

“Who gives a shit?”

 

“The Weasel and Mudblood won’t stop whispering to him, I think they’re planning something. Or suspicious of me.”

 

Pansy took a bite of muffin. “They’re always planning something, Draco. That’s what they’ve always done and shall continue to do. You just need to focus on your own stuff,  do that job you refuse to tell me about.”

 

“Not here, Pansy,” said Draco, glancing about uneasily. He was already regretting the fabrication of a mysterious mission from Voldemort. It would be difficult to explain the deception to his parents, let alone the Dark Lord himself.

 

He gave his eagle a bit of toast and sent him back to the Owlery. A strange dread at the thought of the oncoming Christmas holiday had settled in his stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't stop writing what's going on.

Draco walked down the hallway to the dungeons where Professor Snape was waiting.. He drew his cloak more closely around himself and stepped into the Potions classroom, leaving the door ajar. Professor Snape was seated at his desk, the room dimly lit. 

 

“The Dark Lord has a mission for you, Draco,” intoned Professor Snape. 

 

Draco’s stomach dropped. “What?”

 

“You have not been informed of it yet, as it was not necessary for you to know.”

 

“What is it?” 

 

“You will be informed by him personally, as he has requested your audience once you arrive at Malfoy mansion.”

 

Despite the cold dungeon, Draco felt sweaty. “Why personally? Why are you telling me this?” 

Snape pointed to a chair opposite his desk. “Sit.”

 

Draco sat,  the unpleasant slimy feeling still sliding in his stomach.

 

“It is a difficult task. One that most adult wizards would likely fail.”

 

“I’m almost adult. I’m 16,” said Draco, sounding slightly shrill to his own ears.

A smirk appeared on Snape’s sallow skin. “It is unlikely that you will complete it. Fortunately for you, I have promised your mother that I will help you.”

 

“Does the Dark Lord know about this?” asked Draco, suddenly annoyed. 

 

“That is irrelevant.”

 

“He’s trusting me with this. Not you.”

 

“You idiot boy, you don’t even know what it is,” said Professor Snape through his teeth. 

 

“He doesn’t trust you enough to tell you, even.” said Draco. “He wants me.”

 

“You stupid--”

 

Professor Snape stood suddenly. Draco had never seen him this angry.

Draco stood too, and began to walk away from the desk. “I don’t need your help. You just wish he needed you.”

 

“This is not a competition for the top the class, Draco.”

 

“I can do it, I don’t need you.”

 

“You have no idea what is being required of you,” said Snape heatedly, walking after him and trying to block his exit.

 

Draco tried to dodge past him. “You just want to steal this from me.”

 

“Steal? You have no idea--”

 

But Draco was gone. Before he walked speedily down the hall, he paused slightly. He could swear he had seen a slight disturbance in the air just outside the door.

 

\---

Draco watched the landscape go by as he sat on the train, the rain blurring his view. Blaise sat opposite him, calmly reading a book.

 

He glanced up at Draco. “Heard you don’t want to go out with Daphne.”

 

Draco shrugged, not looking at him.

 

“Maybe Astoria. She might be more your speed anyway.”

 

“Blaise, I don’t give a fuck.”

 

“Oh, okay.” said Blaise, closing his book after dog-earing a corner. “What crawled up your arse?”

 

“Nothing. It’s just a stupid thing to talk about.”

 

“Too good for us now that you’re Marked.”

 

“Shh! And, no. I just-- “

 

“Such a big man,” drawled Blaise, propping his legs up on Draco’s knees. “So very important.”

 

There was a beat of silence. 

 

“You should probably either fuck Pansy or stop leading her on.” 

 

“ _ Pansy _ ?”

 

“Yes, Pansy. She’s been drooling for your cock since fourth year,” said Blaise. 

 

“Gross.”

 

“Hmm.” said Blaise thoughtfully. “So who do you like?”

 

“I don’t know. No one, I suppose.”  Draco could not be bothered with this conversation. 

 

“Hmm.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment on ur hopes and aspirations for this, pls. I will take them into account.

Draco stepped out of the black, driverless limousine which had delivered him to the front gates of Malfoy Manor. The icy grass crunched under his feet. Through the thick fog that partially obscured it, Malfoy Manor seemed as it always had. Large and white, with dim lights flickering in a few of the distant windows. 

 

Draco’s mind drifted to Potter as he walked. He, Weasel and Mudblood had gone home this break. He knew this because he had caught a glimpse of them getting onto the train. Granger had seemed to be avoiding Weasley.  Maybe the stupid trio had finally cracked. 

 

He banged the ouroborus knocker on the  heavy oak door and waited. He could hear one of his family’s elves undoing the locks on the other side. Wopsy’s wrinkled face peeked through and he croaked, “Master Malfoy is welcome,” before standing to the side and redoing the locks behind Draco. 

 

The house was cold and the floor dusty. 

  
  


\---

 

Later that evening, when Draco stepped into the main hall for the dinner he had been called to by Wopsy, he stood stock still on the staircase for a few minutes. Eerily lit by blue torchlight and surrounding the dinner table were a circle of unmasked, black-robed Death Eaters, his parents, and the Dark Lord, who sat at the head in absolute silence.

 

Narcissa inclined her head as he stepped in. Both she and Lucius looked exhausted. 

 

“Please, sit,” said the Dark Lord.

 

Draco took the only open seat at the end of the table, opposite and furthest from the Dark Lord.

 

Wopsy began serving bloody cuts of steak and pouring red wine. 

 

“We are gathered here to welcome a new member,” whispered the Dark Lord in the silence. 

 

No one touched their food.

 

“We welcome him with two tasks. Two tasks to light the purifying fire of revolution.”

 

Bellatrix hummed approvingly.

 

“One: Draco, grant my loyal supporters entrance to Hogwarts this year.” Excited murmuring began at points on the long table.

 

“Two, Draco, kill Albus Dumbledore.”

 

Eyes around the table snapped to Draco. Bellatrix burst out furiously. “But Lord, I would fulfill-- “

 

“Silence. Draco, you are advantageously placed to begin this revolution. Do you not agree?”

 

‘Yes, Lord.” The room felt unreal.

 

Tears rolled down his mother’s face. 

 

“Oh, but Narcissa,” said the Dark Lord sympathetically.  “Draco must have his glory.”

 

\---

 

Draco sat in his room, staring into space. It was impossible. But he had to do it. How could he? Dumbledore was one of the most powerful wizards who had ever lived, Hogwarts was impenetrable, and Draco had trouble turning a lizard into a dagger. And Potter was watching. 

 

He had to do it. And he had to do it by himself. He was being trusted--.

 

He heard a soft knock on his door. 

 

“Come in.”. 

 

Narcissa stepped in with a tired, forced smile and slowly sat down on the bed next to him. “Draco,” she said tearfully. 

 

Draco scooted himself next to her and gave her a hug. 

 

“Draco, I’m so sorry.”

 

“What?”

 

“You never should have been involved in this,” she whispered sadly.

 

“Mother, I’m being trusted.”

 

“You never should have been involved, and I don’t understand--” she made a small choking sound. “I don’t understand why you are.”

 

“He can see that I’m loyal--”

 

“Not the Goyles, Crabbes, or Notts. . . he’s punishing us, Draco. He’s punishing us.”

 

Draco sighed. “No, mother,” holding her and petting her hair. “Has Father said anything to you?” 

 

“He’s worried. I know he doesn’t speak to you much, but he’s worried. And Draco?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You need to let Severus help you.”

 

“Mother, I’m the one the Dark Lord chose. You don’t understand.”

 

Narcissa nodded, avoided looking at him as she wiped her eyes, and left the room. 

 

\---

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you make suggestions I will like you a bunch.

Upon return to the castle, Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He was proud to be on the side of the Dark Lord, but there was something parasitic and malignant about the situation. His home no longer felt like it has a place for him. Easy camaraderie around the Dark Lord was unthinkable. Draco dragged his trunk into his dorm.  Blaise was draped over his bed, and Theo was rummaging through the books in his trunk. 

 

“The hero returns,” drawled Blaise. 

 

Draco dropped his trunk under his bed. 

 

“Heard you got an assignment,” said Theo. 

 

“What do you know?” asked Draco, turning to look at him sharply. 

 

“Nothing, Merlin.” said Theo. “Fucking touchy.”

 

Draco resumed hanging his clothes in the closet. Strangely enough, now that he actually had a task, he would rather do anything other than discuss it. 

 

\---

 

The next day in Defense against the Dark Arts, Potter was being unbearable. They had gotten paired together by Snape, likely, Draco thought, as part of a plan of revenge against Draco after he had refused to give Snape an in on his task.  _ The jealous old bastard _ , Draco thought. 

 

Potter was ruffling his own unruly hair, shooting glances at Draco and making the table jiggle with his foot. 

 

“Today, we will be practicing the Levesian variety of the Stunning spell, known for being more powerful in terms of propulsive energy; specifically, its ability to penetrate glass and weak to moderate Protego shields.” droned Snape. “Your objective: to take turns with the Levesian version of the Stunner and Shield Charm. I have installed cushion charms on the walls for those unexceptional individuals with weak defensive abilities. Commence.”

 

The students began to disperse to separate sides of the room. Draco gave Snape a glare as he glided past and out of the room. 

 

“Had a spat?” asked Potter, watching. 

 

“Stupefy!” Draco shot from close range, but the spell only made Potter’s stumble and his eyelids flutter for a few seconds. Draco felt disoriented, and Potter grinned.

 

“Wow. Playing dirty and still useless, Malfoy.”

 

Draco marched to the other side of the room and spun around, and cast. Potter countered with a strong Protego, and the red of Draco’s Stupefy dissipated against it. Then Potter cast the Stupefy, and it hit Draco’s shield, knocking him back a few steps. They continued like this for several minutes, until Draco was right against the invisible cushions on the wall. He had an idea. 

 

As Potter threw a Stupefy, Draco ducked and threw one right back at him. 

 

The two met in midair and for a moment, a red ball of light hung silently in midair. Then it exploded with a flash of white light, and desks went flying. 

 

Looking around shakily, Draco got up off the ground slowly. Potter had managed to Protego himself, Neville and Hermione, but everyone else was coughing from the dust in the air and slowly trying to stand. 

 

Draco looked at Potter. “I didn’t--”

 

“Useless.” said Potter conversationally, green eyes beaming into his. 

 

Snape reentered the room. He took one look at the relative order that surrounded Potter, and the chaos that was the rest of the room, and hissed, “Potter, you imbecile. My office.”

 

Potter didn’t even argue, but looked strangely gratified as he eyed Draco and followed Snape away. 

 

\---

 

That night, Malfoy picked at his dinner. The Slytherins kept laughing at him for the Defense against the Dark Arts incident, making small exploding sounds whenever he walked past. If he kept this up, he’d undo any mileage he’d earned by getting Marked. He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t have anyone doubting his competence. 

 

He could show them.  He needed to get it together, find a way for the Dark Lord’s followers to enter Hogwarts. This would be a key victory. The Dark Lord needed him, and there was no doubt he would be rewarded. 

  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Pansy was pacing the Common Room excitedly. “So I’ll be needing at least two new dresses, chocolates for cousin Georgine, but we can go to the Three Broomsticks after, if we have enough time, because I’d really like to get the chocolates at Zonko’s and there’s going to be a line for sure-- Draco!”

 

“What?” asked Draco groused, shaking himself from his stupor. 

 

“Hogsmeade! Tell me you’re going. You need it, you’ve been unbearable this past month.”

 

Draco groaned and lay face-down on the couch. Pansy jumped onto this legs knees-first.

 

“Ow, ow, Pans, what the fuck--”

 

“Yeah, Pans, Draco likes it slow and vanilla,” said Blaise, striding in. “Be gentle.”

 

“Who else is coming?” asked Pansy, unapologetically continuing to bruise Draco’s calves with her sharp shins. 

 

“Theo, Crabbe and Goyle, but maybe not Millicent because she’s asleep and I’m not fucking waking her up.”

 

“Wow fascinating, Pansy, fuck off,” said Draco, struggling up as Theo hummed “Careless Whisper” in the background.

 

\---

 

After an hour of Pansy ogling the chocolate selection at Zonko's, and Theo and Blaise stuffing themselves with free samples, the group set out for the Three Broomsticks. 

 

“Probably packed with Gryffindors,” speculated Draco, frowning. 

 

“It’ll be fine, you child,” said Pansy. “We can always just pay first and walk out with a few mugs. Besides. I want to go to the Shrieking Shack.”

 

“Why would anyone?” asked Theo. 

 

“Aren’t you curious about it? Besides, I’ve never been.” 

 

“Um, no.”

 

“That’s only because you have no imagination, Theo. We can break in. It’s not like anyone lives there.” 

 

“That’s right,” said Blaise. “No one living is in there.”

 

“If you don’t come with me,” said Pansy, “I’ll tell Millicent you chickened.”

 

“What.” said Blaise, coloring, shockingly. “I wouldn’t care.”

 

“Mmhmm.” said Pansy. ‘That’s what I thought.”

 

The group made their way in the direction of the Shrieking Shack, passing The Hog’s Head and other stores that only locals tended to frequent. 

 

“Hey Crabbe, Goyle, remember that time we saw Potter’s head drifting in the Shrieking Shack?” said Draco. 

 

Crabbe grunted his affirmation.

 

“He got snow in my pants,” said Goyle. 

 

“Fucking hilarious,” said Draco. “Bet Snape got him in so much trouble.”

 

“Didn’t think it was so funny then.” said Theo. “I think you may have actually been crying when you talked to Snape.” 

 

“Definitely not.” said Draco. “That doesn’t sound like me.” 

 

“Of course,” said Theo trustingly. “Must’ve been someone else.” 

 

They stopped at the rickety gate leading to the Shrieking Shack.  

 

Pansy hopped it and looked behind her. “Well? Come on.”

 

\---

 

The wind whistling through the slats did sound horribly like screams. Draco looked around. It was a shock the old house was still standing. He picked up an old book that lay on the floor and began to leaf through it. 

 

“Fuck,” breathed Pansy, looking at the claw marks on the floor. Blaise fidgeted nervously. “Look at how deep they are.” 

 

Pansy cast her wand light all around her. They were surrounded by gouges in the floor, gouges that seemed thicker and more closely grouped towards the door opposite them. 

 

“I wanna see where these go,” said Pansy. 

 

Draco continued to leaf through the book. It was an account of Wizarding ancestry. He searched M. . . M for Malfoy. How closely were they related to the Blacks? Father and Mother never seemed to talk about that part of the family anymore . . . 

 

Draco glanced up. His friends were gone, probably in pursuit of any other signs of whatever had made the gouges, however many years back. He heard a panting behind him and spun around. It was Fang. How . . . ?

 

The hound happily trotted towards him, reared up on its hind legs, and tackled him to the ground. 

 

“Ugh, Merlin. You monstrosity,” said Draco, patting Fang’s head. “You’re going to keep doing this? Deserted me in the Forbidden Forest in my time of need five years ago, and now you can’t fuck off.”

 

Draco sat up and looked around for the source of Fang’s entrance. He had seemed to materialize out of the floorboards.

 

Glancing around and seeing no witnesses, Draco sat up and began petting the dog. It laid down in his lap. “Good boy, “ he whispered to Fang. “I don’t blame you for stalking me. I’d stalk me too.”

 

\---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this past year has been total fuckery, but I'm back in action. I'm decidedly a Ravenclaw but holy SHIT do I love writing Slytherins.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeere we go <3

Pansy, Theo, Blaise, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle traipsed back into their common room, arms laden with sweets.

 

“Fucking excellent haul,” declared Pansy, who had purchased by far the most. She dumped it next to her armchair and unwrapped a chocolate frog.  Murky evening light from the lake filtered in through the windows, and Theo started a fire in the grate before also taking a seat and starting his Arithmancy homework. 

 

Sensing all the commotion, Millicent came wandering in, weaving through the chairs, lost in her own world. She paused in front of Blaise’s. “Hi, Blaise,” she said shyly. 

 

“Uh. Um, hi.”

 

“Can I have that?” she pointed at one of his Levitating Chocolates.

 

“Uh. Uh. Sure.”

 

Millicent grabbed it, ducked her head, and began to click her tongue as she dragged the Levitating Chocolate along the wall and curled up next to the lake light filtering in through the window, square jaw cupped in one hand. 

 

Blaise shook his head furiously at Pansy’s wide-eyed head bobs in Millicent’s direction.

 

Draco kicked him in the shin, whispering. “Either talk to her or stop mooning, you knob.”

 

Blaise gave him a glare that promised eventual retribution, and warily walked over to Millicent. 

 

“Fucking finally.” said Pansy. “This isn’t Mills and fucking Boon. Hey, what’s with you, Draco?”

 

“Fuck off Pansy, I’m fine.” 

 

“So why’ve you been so weird?”

 

“What, in the Shrieking Shack? Look I told you, I zoned out, that oaf’s mutt tackled me--”

 

“No! More generally. You haven’t told me anything about break, and you don’t talk to Snape anymore, and you’re fucking fixated on Potter.” 

 

“I am not! Pans, you’d have to be blind-- we both know he’s doing something. He’s the one who won’t fuck off.”

 

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Good god, Draco. Your annual Potter Paranoia is getting fucking stale. Besides, Daphne Greengrass has been asking about you.”

 

Draco made a face.

 

“Draco, be serious. She’s the second-prettiest girl in our year, and just sickeningly, sickeningly pleasant. Unless, um. Huh.  Unless. . . “

 

“What?”

 

“Hmm.”

 

‘Pansy?”

 

“Hmmmmm.”

 

“Uh. . .?”

 

Pansy gathered up her stash of sweets, chortling, and headed towards her room, “We’ll talk later, dear!”

 

Theo looked up, bemused. “I’ll pray for you, mate.”

 

Draco snorted.

 

“But actually, Dray. You still haven’t told us about your hols. I heard, that, you know-- ”

 

Draco’s smile dropped. “You know I can’t talk about this.”

 

“Um, you used to.”

 

Draco stared at him. “Do you need a fucking  _ Witch Weekly _ , Nott? I’ll tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it.” Leaving his bag in his armchair, he swept out of the Common Room, through the portrait hole. He needed a goddamn walk.

 

\---

 

A few hours later, Draco was regretting his meandering. It was definitely after hours, and he didn’t have a clue where he was. Probably somewhere near the Astronomy tower? He cast a quick Disillusionment charm. It wouldn’t work if he ran right into Filch, but Draco was  good in the dark. 

 

He turned into several narrower corridors-- Snape patrolled the main dungeon corridor like a maniac, so there was no sense in a direct route. 

Finally. A spiral staircase-- this had to be Astronomy. He jogged up it. Fucking Nott and fucking Pansy, with their stupid assumptions and allusions. They were Slytherins. Didn’t they know how to keep their hands to their own goddamn selves? 

 

The full moon in one of the arched windows of the spire caught his eye. The moon was illuminating a large swath of the grounds. In the distance, he could see the Whomping Willow, swaying gently. He smirked to himself. Stupid Potty and Weasel in second year, crashing a fucking car into it. If he’d been there, it would have never happened. Potter was obnoxious, but Weasley’s buffoonery could reach impressive levels. They might have picked a better tree. 

 

He squinted in the distance. Was that a dog moving around next to it? Hagrid’s Fang, maybe. The oaf needed to get a handle on both that dog and himself. 

 

The moon’s light seemed to flow up the staircase, and his shadow was. . .  was at the wrong angle? Draco whipped around, nearly losing his footing on the stairs. There was a silvery, lunar light emanating from under a tapestry further up the spiral stairs. Draco cautiously crept up to it, and ducked through. It was a dusty little alcove, one wall filled with old cabinets and rusty astrolabes. Against the other wall  leaned a mirror that reflected the beam of light from a window on the ceiling and magnified it. Above it, engraved in antiquated script was “Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.” 

 

He approached the glass. With a shock, he realized that he could only see the cabinets behind him. Was he really just that good at Disillusionment? Rolling his eyes at himself, he ended the charm. 

 

Stillness. Just a reflection of  the moonlit astrolabes on the other side of the room.

 

Squinting, he touched the glass with the shaking, pale hand in front of him.  No mirrored hand reached out to meet him. 

 

He sat down, cross-legged. He spent a long time staring into the absence of himself in the mirror that night.

 

\---

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, Draco woke very tired. He could barely remember getting back from the mirror, and he wasn’t sure he could find it again. It had been the Astronomy tower, hadn’t it? It was odd he had never noticed the alcove before. 

 

He rolled out of bed, and got dressed. He crept out into the dorm corridor. Thankfully, no one’s door was open yet. It was Saturday, there were no classes, and it was time to start figuring shit out. He headed into the library, cast a Notice Me Not, and settled himself between the shelves pertaining to the history of Hogwarts. Everyone knew you couldn’t apparate into Hogwarts, but there was absolutely no way a castle so old didn’t have any passages out. 

 

And he was going to stay here until he found one.

 

\---

 

A few hours later, whispering from the other side of the bookshelf pulled him out of his research. He peeked through the books. Of course. It was the trio. Granger was buried in a pile of books, Weasel was trying to cajole her into helping him, and Potter was looking out the window, lost in thought.  

 

“Hey, ‘Mione” he said, interrupting their squabbling. 

 

“Hmm?”

 

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Look . . I know, I know you don’t like me talking about the Prince.”

 

Granger’s mouth thinned. 

 

“And-- “

 

“Harry, for Christ’s sake.”

 

“And!--  And I’m just saying, I think he could be important.”

 

Granger rolled her eyes. “Look, Harry. I think what you found was the old textbook of a talented alumnus. That’s. It. Why are you so fixated on this? It’s just this and Malfoy constantly, and we have actual fucking problems to deal with.”

 

Draco flinched twice, both at the sound of his name and at Granger swearing. This was so weird. 

 

Ron’s pencil dropped out of his mouth with a clatter. “Problems?”

 

“For example,” said Hermione heatedly, “The dreams!”

 

“Look Hermione, I already know not to listen to them, ok?” Harry dropped his head into his hands.. “I remember, the, the Ministry, ok. I can’t fucking forget.”

 

“Mate,” said Ron, looking upset. “You know we don’t blame you.”

 

Hermione backtracked. “Of course, we don’t, Harry! This isn’t about that! The point is that it’s a two-way channel!”

 

She dropped her voice. “He’d be able to see things! Things about the Order! Know where you are! Think how powerful that can be, Harry, think!”

 

Harry massaged his temples.

 

She continued: “And we know he knows about it, because he’s already manipulated it!”

 

“I’m not going back to Snape.”

 

“Harry, you need to go back to Snape.”

 

“He threw me out, Hermione. And I’m not fucking trusting him with my memories. He’s fucking snug with miniature Death Eater Malfoy. How do you explain that?”

 

Draco turned around, breathing fast, as Hermione went on to offer platitudes about Dumbledore. The Dark Lord saw the school through Potter. Fuck, fuck. Everything Potter knew about him. . . all his worst moments. . . all his staring. . . shit.

 

He suddenly noticed a drop in conversation. Potter was looking at a dirty bit of parchment, his mouth hanging open. His head shot up. 

 

“Er. . . Hermione? Ron? I’ll see you later.”

 

“Harry? What’s wrong?” asked Granger.

 

“Later.” said Potter, jaw clenching. “I’ll tell you later.”

 

“Uh. . . Harry?” 

 

“Trust me.”

 

Granger and Weasley stood up, baffled, and walked out of the library.

 

Potter sat there, transfixed, fists clenched. What was wrong with him? Was the Dark Lord invading his mind? Could he feel it?

 

Draco had never had a good chance to just look at Potter without interruptions. His hair was getting long. He obviously put no effort into his appearance. His eyes were very, very green. Draco shook himself after a minute. So weird. He grabbed a couple books and shoved them in his bag, and made his way out. 

 

He hadn’t made it ten meters out of the library when a tall, bony projectile tackled him. His head hit the ground and everything got fuzzy, and he was being dragged into an abandoned classroom. He opened his mouth to make any kind of noise, but all he managed was a half-formed gasped before he got punched in the stomach. 

 

Curling his arms around his middle, he reeled and tried to pronounce the word “stop.” 

 

It was Potter, and he was furious.  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Spying?”

 

Draco tried to remove Potter’s hand from the front of his robes. Everything was feeling uncomfortably shivery and the air was swimming.

 

“Shit. . . Gerroff. . . Fuck off, Potter. Like you do anything worth spying on.”

 

Potter shook him by the front of his robes. “You think I don’t know about what you fucking did to Katie Bell yesterday?”

 

Draco flinched. Had something happened to Katie Bell? She was just supposed to deliver the necklace . . . 

 

Potter’s hand finally left his cloak-- only to reappear around his neck. Very firmly. Oh, no. Oh fuck. Now he was getting wet. He was getting wet and hard and the Dark Lord could probably see. Draco stared into Potter’s eyes. Was the Dark Lord in there all the time? Could he see him right now? 

 

Some mirrors didn’t see Draco. Like the alcove one.  Not breathing, Draco looked closer. Maybe Harry’s eyes didn’t reflect him either . . . the eyes were narrowed with confusion and the pressure on his neck stopped. 

 

They were inches apart. Draco hadn’t been trying to get away. He had been drifting closer. 

 

Draco heard “the fuck?” as blood rushed back into his head and he fell over. Someone was taking his pulse, then jerking his sleeve up, oh no wrong forearm, this was so embarrassing. 

 

Potter was staring, freaked, at the raised, scabbed-up scarring. He was switching to his other arm, yes that’s the one, good . . . and he was staring, at the Dark Mark.

 

And Draco became aware that he was still lying on the stone floor, taking slow, rattling breaths. Potter was gone. 

 

\---


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's years later, and I'm back in action I guess. Never believe me about anything ever again. 
> 
> Warning: graphic description of self harm (cutting).

Draco woke up that morning with his neck aching. Wincing, he tried to roll it. It was odd that his alarm hadn’t gone off. He glanced at it. Of course. He hadn’t set it. 

 

At least it was the weekend, and everyone had cleared out of the Slytherin dorm room. He shuffled to the adjoining restrooms, and froze when he reached the sink mirror. There were long, finger-shaped bruises around his neck. Thumbprints over his Adam’s apple. Three long lines along both sides of his neck, like gills. 

 

Shit. Potter had seen his scar arm. Potter had seen his Dark Mark. Potter had seen him faint as he drifted towards him, staring into his eyes.

 

Draco looked up, blinking away the frustration that had condensed into tears. It was simple. (1) He was going to have to die.  And because he was too cowardly to do that, he was going to have to (2) find a new site for cutting, (3), never ever look at Harry Potter ever again, and (4) complete the Dark Lord’s tasks and leave this hellish school as soon as possible. Draco healed the bruises on his neck and unstuck the razor blade he taped to the wood on the underside of his bedpost. Once in the shower, he sat down on his towel, and surveyed his inner forearm. 

 

The way Draco cut was to do small, controlled incisions, equidistant from each other. When he ran out of room, he went back and put cuts between those cuts, and so on. More recently, he had been going back and repeating the process horizontally, crosshatching. The result was a hard, half-healed, constant scab. 

 

Sniffling, he got started on his outer shin. 

 

\---

 

Draco disillusioned himself and made his way out of the dorms, past Crabbe and Goyle, who were sitting in the Common Room armchairs, illuminated by the dim light of the evening filtering through the lake water, looking bored. Draco hadn’t been giving them very much to do. They hadn’t beaten anyone up for nearly a month now. With Draco’s courseload and tasks from the Dark Lord, there was no time to terrorize the student population. And if he couldn’t trust Snape to help him, there was certainly no way he could trust Crabbe and Goyle. 

 

Draco moved quickly through the quiet hallways. Perhaps he could spend a little more time with the mirror before curfew. In the hallway, the last rays of sun illuminated the Whomping Willow. Under it, Fang was alternately chasing and being chased by what looked like a very large, furry ginger cat.

 

Draco looked around, then ducked under the tapestry. Draco settled, cross-legged, in front of the mirror, where motes of dust shimmered in the last rays of sun. He relaxed, staring at the wall behind him reflected in the mirror, and the reassuring absence of his own reflection. 

 

He had wanted so desperately to be here, that day in the abandoned classroom with Potter. Out of his sight, out of the sight of the Dark Lord. Safe. He touched his neck, thinking about Potter, thinking about Katie Bell’s cursed necklace.  He was lucky that Potter and he had history, or else McGonagall would have taken his accusations against Draco more seriously. 

 

Katie wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be at St. Mungo’s, she was supposed to deliver the necklace to Dumbledore and be off on her way. It was an amateur, half-hearted attempt, and he just  _ knew  _ that the Dark Lord had already been informed. It was just pure luck he hadn’t run into Snape yet. Snape would kill him for being so stupid. 

 

Draco felt tears sliding down his face and wiped at them in frustration. This wasn’t what he wanted. Being a Death Eater was supposed to bring oblivion, not just further, painful proof of his own incompetence. He was shocked McGonagall hadn’t seen what he had done by just looking at him. At least Snape was smart enough to know he was an incompetent.

 

How did people like the Mudblood live? How did they feign strength when weakness was literally in their blood? He was a Malfoy, and sometimes his scabs ripped open when he put on clothes too fast. But Granger. . . the Weasel . . . Potter. . .  always sitting at the Gryffindor table in golden light, laughing at something, faces rosy. They didn’t deserve it, they were disgusting. They were the people he should have been. 

 

They were degenerate and so was he, and he didn’t even have an excuse.

 

\---

 

When Draco finally rose from the floor in the dead of night, he felt less human than when he had sat down in front of the mirror that evening. Perhaps he was on the other side of the mirror now, where he didn’t exist. 

 

He was outside, in the cool winter air. His shadow was barely there, wavering behind him. Perhaps if Draco had noticed, he would have attributed it to his Disillusionment charm. 

 

He was walking towards the Whomping Willow, and every shadow was Hagrid’s dark hound. As he approached the tree, it rustled in a way that could be attributed to the gentle breeze. He neared its roots, and the ground gave way under his feet, and he was sliding, sliding, sliding to a standstill on the claw-marked floor of the Shrieking Shack. 

 

Draco held his breath. This was the connection. This was the connection between Hogwarts and the outside world. His first task was complete. Draco curled in on himself and gagged.


End file.
